


loving you is easy as an ice cream sundae

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Domestic Bliss, Flashbacks, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M, New York City, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Running, Summer, Teasing, bucky barnes is an asshole, steve rogers is a sweetheart, when he wants to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: “Buck…”Bucky stops too, and in a last ditch effort to win him over, buries his face into Steve’s neck, beard, sweat, and all. “We can spare the calories, Stevie, damnit. C’mon, I feel like I’m going to have a heatstroke. Do you want me to have a heatstroke?” He’s being dramatic, he knows, but Steve was the one being stubborn first. This is always how their squabbles settle out, even ones as stupid as this. It’s been that way since they were in Brooklyn the first time.(steve and bucky stop their run to go get some ice cream. that’s it. just some good old fashioned summer fun)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	loving you is easy as an ice cream sundae

**Author's Note:**

> it is very cold and wet where i live right now so i wrote this out of spite for the weather i wish we had. i miss heat. and new york. and the summer. and stevebucky. here are all of those things combined.

Brooklyn summers have always had Bucky beat, before the serum and after. As much as he always used to dread the winters and all the worries about Steve’s health they would bring, the summers sometimes were just as bad to bear. Definitely not as dangerous, but Christ- the days of sticky heat and heavy humidity that made it sometimes just as hard for Steve to breathe as dry air did… there was always a clear preference of what type of weather Bucky should prefer. He knew that, but that still didn’t keep him from sometimes hating (or at least dreading) just how hot summer days in Brooklyn could become. 

Not even the nights were much cooler aside from the relief that came with the sun setting. As a kid, there was at least the upside that school was out and afternoons even in the too thick heat could be spent lazing around with lots of time and little to do. Bucky has a lot of fond memories of spending evenings out on the fire escape with Steve, smoking cigs they’d swiped from Bucky’s dad if they were feeling daring enough or just sitting there in silence while Steve sketched and Bucky stared off at the skyline. A couple of times they even got to watch the fireworks shows from the other side of town on Steve’s birthday, and once they got old enough, used the occasion to sneak a couple kisses. Those were always a lot better tasting than those stolen cigarettes, Bucky would say, but then again Steve is still the sweetest thing he’s _ever_ had or held. 

Once they got even older than that, though, summer wasn’t just a time to goof off and get around. After they graduated, it was time to get _real_ jobs instead of just part time, and _time off_ was a thing not marked by the season but by gaps in the salary that growing up into men instead of boys meant they needed. Steve, a year younger and skinny as ever, got stuck working at the grocer’s, which wasn’t as bad as it could get. But true to form, he desperately wanted to do more- _man’s_ work, he’d told Bucky once when he was a little drunk and muzzy enough around the edges to say the things that usually slipped by unspoken. 

_Man’s work_ like what Bucky, eighteen and just pushing into the edge of his prime, was doing down at the docks. Seemed sort of like a waste of his just completed education to Bucky personally (at least at the grocer’s Steve got to use his artistic talent to jazz up the windows- what was Bucky getting to do staying busy lifting boxes?), but jobs were scarcer than sugar sometimes and manual labor was just another end to a means. _Means_ being money. Back then, money meant everything (though to Bucky, still not as much as Steve). 

There were a few times Bucky saw the fellas he worked with pass out onto the pavement. Dehydration was a bitch, even with the breaks they got- some of the guys didn’t drink enough, though Bucky couldn’t always blame them. Water out of a bucket with a ladle wasn’t exactly helping them live the high life, but they weren’t there for that. They were there for work. _Hard_ work at that. 

Seeing as how the docks were down by the water, no matter what the weather was, Bucky always left feeling like salt from more than just his sweat was stuck somewhere deep in his lungs. Sometimes, he wondered if that was what Steve felt like with how shitty his own lungs were, but he never liked to talk about that so Bucky never asked. 

Brooklyn summers even back then were hot, humid, muggy, so sticky they could make a man want to _melt-_ a whole laundry list of overheated words longer than the shifts Bucky always seemed to get stuck working when it felt like the heat waves were at their worst. Admittedly, that was before the invention of things like air conditioning and cooling systems Bucky and Steve could even dream of daring to buy. Though on the flip side, according to what science Bucky has been able to catch up on, climate change is in fact a very real problem that can counteract the progress of those inventions if one actually becomes involved in looking at the big picture. 

If there’s one thing he knows Steve Rogers loves (besides Bucky Barnes), it’s the big picture. Being an advocate for environmental rights- even while still living in the city, which would make Bucky feel silly if not for the fact that he doesn’t think they’ll ever create real change by being civilians- is no different. Steve’s always been self righteous and Bucky’s always been a bit of a science nerd (though not nerdy enough to be someone like Bruce or- _god forbid_ \- Tony Stark). Tackling stuff like this takes up some of their free time when they aren’t having to fight whatever chaos of the week comes charging at them, even if it is a little depressing to learn at what rate parts of the world are decomposing. 

He’d say that the heat they’re having to endure now is a part of that problem, but while he knows so many other things are, he has to admit this probably isn’t one of them. This is the same hellscape sort of weather they’ve been warring against since the first time they shared a bed and Steve felt secure enough to take his shirt off where Bucky could see. It’s sort of awful, but also nostalgic in a way. Nothing like some old fashioned summer suffering to set the morning mood, is there?

Bucky groans and makes a sound that would probably be much more in place were they still piled up in bed together. But as things are, this morning setting is slightly different, and as such, his morning is maybe out of place with so many pedestrians walking close by. But he can’t help it- he might have been in shape even before he got serum, but he’d like to see anyone else trot around town towing both Steve Rogers and a thirty pound metal arm on either side without breaking somewhat of a sweat. In summer, now less. You’d think they could skip a couple days of doing this now that they aren’t on the proverbial run as well as the physical.

Sam somehow got out of it today, which Bucky is slightly envious of. Said he had a brunch date. Bucky might try using the same excuse on Steve, but seeing as Steve is both his running _and_ his domestic partner… he doesn’t suppose that would have worked as well as he’d wanted it to. The only dates he goes on are with him. They’ve been through quite a lot to keep things that way. 

Now that they’ve slowed to a stop- or at least a slow walk- Bucky’s got his metal hand braced on his back to help take some of the weight of it away, while in front of him, Steve’s still practically bouncing on his toes. He’s always been lighter on his feet than Bucky has, and it shows, if not just in their fighting styles, but a few other things as well. The way they run, mostly. The way they walk. Even the way they fu-

“You ready for another lap, Buck?” Steve’s voice is far too chipper considering what they just got done doing. Compared to how Bucky’s own sounds like when it croaks out, he might as well be singing. 

Bucky has a suspicion he can hear him start to hum in the meantime. He blows out a breath and tightens where his bun has started to skip out of its elastic. Steve’s cute when he’s eager, but _cute_ isn’t going to cut it when Bucky’s about to blow a gasket from how sweltering it is on the street. Maybe literally, now that he’s part machine. He doesn’t suppose that HYDRA had much heat in mind when making their monster out of him- it might snow a shit ton in the winter here, but that’s still nothing compared to Siberia. 

“Sweetheart, we’ve been around the block so many times they’re all starting to blur together, and that’s coming from someone with 20/20 eyesight.” Snipers need that sort of thing, after all. Bucky pulls at where the polyester of his workout tank is sticking to the hair on his chest, air hot and humid beneath there as well. Jesus, he’d forgotten how _hot_ it gets. “If Sam were here, you woulda stopped ages ago.”

That’s both because Sam doesn’t have a serum and because he’s sort of the voice of reason where Steve pushing too far while running is concerned. Bucky handles that sort of stuff in most other parts of Steve’s private life, but he’s more than happy to let Sam have this part if it means they don’t have to start mile thirteen every morning it isn’t pouring down rain. 

Rain sounds sort of good right now, actually. At least until Bucky considers the humidity that would have to follow. _That_ sounds like a fucking nightmare. But water- water sounds good. 

Bucky’s mouth gets dryer at the mere thought of gulping some down, and he groans again at the realization he hadn’t bothered to bring any. Running with a bottle is nothing but a bother, but not having any _now_ bothers him even more. 

Steve doesn’t seem too parched by some miracle, but he does nod and stop so that Bucky can meet from where he’d been walking in front. Bucky has his six, even on the street. “Wanna go back home, then? I can make you a protein shake.”

_Home_ and the air conditioning it holds sounds promising, but the protein shake- Bucky wrinkles his nose, not even bothering to hide it from Steve’s notice. Steve might guzzle down the stuff (as if he isn’t already in great shape at a baseline because of the serum) but Bucky happens to think they’re gross, even if the chocolate ones aren’t as chalky as the other flavors. 

He’s grateful for the offer, but he shakes his head and lets himself sound hopeful when he offers something else back instead. “How about we go to that little drug store diner couple streets over?” Then, to help his case, because Steve’s a stickler for his calories sometimes out of the blue, “Walk would give us a chance to cool down and get something sweet or grab a bite if you’re hungry. Late brunch, early lunch.” Steve doesn’t look quite convinced yet, so Bucky brushes a hand against the small of back where his shirt is stuck to him with sweat, and then a kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, honey. Breakfast was a while ago.”

It was. Nearly three hours ago with how long they’ve been out here. But Steve still apparently wants to be difficult, digging the heels of his Nikes down so that Bucky can’t walk them any further from the direction of the house than they already are. He’s either just being a brat or _really_ wants to try that new strawberry protein powder he has waiting back at home. “Buck…” 

Bucky stops too, and in a last ditch effort to win him over, buries his face into Steve’s neck, beard, sweat, and all. “We can spare the calories, Stevie, damnit. C’mon, I feel like I’m going to have a heatstroke. Do you want me to have a heatstroke?” He’s being dramatic, he knows, but Steve was the one being _stubborn_ first. This is always how their squabbles settle out, even ones as stupid as this. It’s been that way since they were in Brooklyn the first time. 

Now that they’re back, Steve is still seemingly just as stubborn, but he falls for Bucky’s tricks almost ten times as easy. Captain America might be one of the Earth’s mightiest heroes, but for Bucky, Steve’s still soft enough to be mellow around the edges. Besides, they both know the answer to Bucky’s question is _no,_ Steve does not want his boyfriend to have a heatstroke no matter how good he looks breathless and sweaty, if Bucky does say so himself. Steve looks pretty damn good that way himself, even side eyeing Bucky like he is right now, baby blue’s squinting in the sun currently beating down into their skin. He’s gonna be lucky if he doesn’t burn.

Bucky likes the freckles, even if he doesn’t like the idea of Steve feeling pain. 

Steve huffs and scuffs his feet on the sidewalk, rubber soles scratching against the cement. “I guess I could go for something to cool off right now.”

Bucky grins, triumphant, and tugs Steve in for another kiss smacked this time over top his lips. They both taste a little like salt and smell a lot like sweat, but it doesn’t matter, not as long as that means they’re both together side by side. “C’mon, sweetheart. My treat.” He taps a warning finger on the tip of Steve’s already red tinted nose. “But we are _not_ running there.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his eyes, then has to blink out the sting once the sweat smarts inside. The motion makes him look sleepy, though he sounds very much awake when he starts to complain while they walk. “I didn’t even say that we should!”

Looping his left arm to wrap around Steve’s waist and tease at the exposed sliver of skin where his shirt has slipped up, Bucky just hums and hopes the cool texture of the metal will make Steve feel a little less warm. Usually they have the opposite problem when it comes to temperature thanks to their past prior to the serum and then the events of the Valkyrie after, but being outside in the summer makes circumstances a little different. “Didn’t have to. I know you. Sam doesn’t call you the Road Runner for nothing.”

It’s an aptly chosen nickname- Bucky’s been chasing him since they were kids. Steve should know that with all the times he’s looked back to see it by now, but out loud he just sniffs and side eyes Bucky again. “And what do _you_ call me?”

Bucky snorts. That’s a question _he’s_ the one usually asking in a wildly different setting and different sort of tone, but if Steve wants to be suggestive, so can he. “Call you a lot of things, babydoll.” He kisses his cheek again, Steve’s hand swinging close enough to brush against his side and stay there to hold on with Bucky’s voice still sounding off husky into his ear. “Honey. Sweetheart. Sunshine.” He squeezes his fingers in so tight Steve almost stumbles. “ _Hotshot._ Couple of other things I probably shouldn’t say in mixed company, yeah?”

In truth they probably shouldn’t be doing this while walking _or_ while surrounded by other unsuspecting strangers who could recognize them even without the stars and stripes. Steve’s been known to get a little clumsy during a blush. All the blood goes from his brain to his face, and the last thing Bucky wants is for him to fall over. Serum might heal scraped knees a lot sooner than Steve’s bony body used to, but Steve would still kill him either way. Steve’s not easily deterred, but he _is_ easily embarrassed. 

Even with all that in mind, Bucky can’t help but take the teasing (and the flush it’s started to pull) a little further- they’re almost to the shop he suggested anyways. “What about what you call _me,_ huh, blondie?”

Like he’d guessed, that gets a pretty good reaction from Steve, a groan that goes on about as long as it takes for his face to turn red. He almost looks like he’s gearing up to say something but can’t quite find the words, settling on a sigh and (mostly) good natured glare instead. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Don’t what?” Bucky says innocently, even as he’s smirking in a way that’s decidedly the opposite. 

Steve just looks so _cute_ with all his feathers ruffled up, flustered in the way only Bucky can get him. He’s that way right now, though no one currently notices besides Bucky. Still, he looks around like he can feel people staring before whining out an answer in a voice so comparatively deep it sounds almost ridiculous. What a drama queen- and here Bucky and thought that was _his_ title for today. “We’re in _public_. There are people around, Buck.”

“Aw, they’re not paying attention to us,” Bucky tosses back playfully. He may have been out of breath, but teasing doesn’t take the slightest out of him, having been his chosen method for so long when it comes to riling up Steve. Still, he doesn’t actually want his guy to be uncomfortable- it’s already about as bad as it gets in this sticky sort of heat- so he lightens up and lets that train of thought go. “You decide what you want yet or are you gonna need a minute to look at the menu when we get there?”

He asks, but he already knows the answer. Steve’s pretty predictable. Case and point, the immediate shaking of his head as he sweeps his sweaty bangs back out of his face and off his forehead. “I’ll just get what I usually do.”

Bucky can’t keep the smile back that that answer elicit. There’s something especially nice about hearing Steve speak about things like their _usuals_ and daily routines. Domesticity wasn’t something Bucky got to have for a long time. He’d missed it almost as much as he’d missed Steve- probably because Steve’s the only one he’s ever really shared all that with in the first place. The fact they have spots they frequent enough for Steve to have an order he considers regular… it might mean more than it would to most. 

He removes his hand from around Steve’s waist and slips his fingers down to lace between the blonde’s own instead, Steve’s wrist on the bottom like always so that Bucky’s plating won’t dig into his skin. That’s a habit they’d had even before the prosthetic, though. Steve’s height may have changed but the fact they fit together hasn’t one bit. 

Squeezing his fingers again slightly for a second time, he lets Steve swing their hands with the rhythm of their steps and smiles at the hum he can now hear him letting out from the side. It’s still sweltering, but something about this morning has the mood set so easy that Bucky can’t even bring himself to be unhappy about the heat. In any case, they have a couple ways to beat it. 

Being from the 1940s and all, the assumptions about them missing the _good old days_ (good for _who_ Bucky wants to ask sometimes) do get kind of annoying, but he does have to admit he has a certain soft spot for one of the classics, including the classics of cooling off. Soft _serve_ being one of them, although that wasn’t the first kind of ice cream that he had the pleasure of getting to eat. 

Growing up, he and Steve didn’t exactly have much access to sweet things. Sugar was rationed. Money was tight. Both of those things meant that meals were, like most other things during that period, merely a product of making do. Their mothers did their best, but food was often bland at best and borderline inedible at worst. Bucky never wants to touch another boiled potato again in his _life._ There were a couple times when he was a kid that there were exceptions to that, though. For the Barnes more than the Rogers- Sarah did her best, God rest her soul, but she was a single mother. Sparing the income and ingredients to invest in making ice cream wasn’t a stretch she could afford to make, even for her son. 

On the other hand, Bucky’s family was a bit more stable financially, and as such, did have the luxury at least a few times for him and his sisters growing up. Considering Steve was almost always around, especially in the summers, he was welcome to partake in the process too. 

It wasn’t something they could do often, seeing as the recipe involved a surplus of things like sugar, salt, and other sorts of stuff that wasn’t exactly falling off the shelves in store. But on the occasions that they were able to make it… those are some of the best memories Bucky still has. 

It also wasn’t often that Bucky was was able to help in the kitchen (which was something he had always secretly wanted, but wasn’t in the position during that time period to have), but the process of making ice cream homemade called for a lot of labor, which as a boy, Bucky always liked to think was his type of job. Even with something as stupid as manning the hand crank to help churn the cream into something they could serve. 

Steve always wanted to help too, which almost always led to squabbling over who was strong enough to keep on turning, and who got the first bowl because of all their hard work. Later, when Bucky’s Ma let him have the machine once he moved out into an apartment with Steve, he always let the blonde have the first bite. But that was their secret, because no one else should know that they now shared a lot more than just a bowl. 

Once, during the summer that Steve was twelve and Bucky was thirteen, Steve tried to carry some of their hard work back home to Sarah so she could finally have something sweet as well. He always felt bad that she was left out, Bucky knew. Unfortunately, since it was summer, the stuff melted before Steve could get back to keep it somewhere cold. When Bucky went around to his place later to read the comic with him he’d picked up earlier in the week, his eyes had looked suspiciously wet. _He_ had looked so sad Bucky had to give him a hug, not regretting it even when Steve sniffed and tried to shove him off, looking like he felt at least a little bit better. 

What they’d managed to make wasn’t half bad, but it also wasn’t half as good as what Bucky finally was able to afford down at the soda shop once he got his first part time job sweeping up at the Y after school. He frequented there for the gym anyways, and the pay was about as good as it was going to get at that age. The soda shop back then isn’t actually much different from the diner they’re going to now, but back in those days, they hadn’t gone down there as much for more reasons than just money. 

For one, it always took forever to convince Steve to let himself be treated to something sweet, even after they got together enough for Bucky to stop having to hide he wanted to be sweet on the younger boy in the first place. It also was a little too public for them to safely share a glass with two straws together the way they sometimes did even when Bucky’s paycheck did give him the money to buy them both a malt. Privacy was one of the biggests parts of them being partners back then, and Bucky valued that more than he valued being able to get Steve a milkshake, so he didn’t push too many times for Steve to let himself have the treat. 

Besides, the ice cream at the shop may have been better than what they were able to make back at home, but it didn’t have half the heart. And no matter how much Bucky grew to love the soft serve that was sold in the soda shop, it was nothing compared to being able to create something with Steve. Still, it was good when they did get to have it, probably the sweetest thing they were able to eat back then. Egg creams, chocolate sodas, malted milkshakes- all that stuff was great. But for some reason, soft serve was always something special when it came to Bucky’s personal tastes. 

He’s still ruminating over what flavor he’ll want to get today (there are so many more _options_ now) when he spots something out of the corner of his eye, right as they approach where the diner is on the opposite side of the curb. He smiles, right as Steve lets out an embarrassed sigh from by his side. 

It’s a sign, bold and bright enough to catch one’s attention even with the sun shining as strong as it is. But the fact it’s obnoxious isn’t why Steve is sighing- no, that would be because it’s his face that is plastered across the front with his namesake flavor emblazoned right underneath. _Cap-ple Pie._ It’s cute. Bucky doesn’t see why Steve hates it. 

To be fair, he thinks Steve hates the sign more than the actual ice cream, made clear by the way he always turns red on the occasions they pass by it on their run. The diner has flavors to fit all of the Avengers there. Bucky is only a little bitter he doesn’t have his own yet- but then again, he’s only been an Avenger for about a month. Sam and the Spider kid definitely deserves their own before him. 

Bucky won’t ever tell him this, but Sam’s flavor- the Falcone Fudge, because all the names are corny as hell- isn’t half bad. Steve’s is still sweeter, though. 

The way he’s gone all _aw, shucks_ at the sign is pretty sweet in itself, and Bucky laughs at the same time he pulls Steve forward by the hand so they can cross the street and set about going inside. “C’mon, Stevie. Let’s go cool off.”

Steve sighs a second time, but lets Bucky lead them past the advertisement and through the doors until they're finally out of the heat, now so strong the sidewalk is starting to shimmer, and back in air conditioning once more. Bucky sighs too now. The cold air feels amazing, which is saying something when it comes to them- his name might be the Winter Soldier, but they don’t exactly have the best track record with the cold. 

Still, Steve seems to be more comfortable in these cooler conditions as well, broad shoulders slumping down where his sleeves are still pushed up from their run and reddened by all the sun they’ve gotten. He keeps his head ducked the way he always does when they’re in public and he doesn’t want to be recognized, but Bucky keeps his own held high as they approach the area meant for those ready to order. He’s had enough keeping his head down for a lifetime. 

He knows what he wants, anyways. So does Steve, though he still takes a second to look at the menu, like he’s just making sure. Bucky rolls his eyes and bumps their hips together, hands still intertwined. “Thought you knew what you wanted, hotshot.”

“I do,” Steve says, but his eyes stay on the sign where all the flavors (including his own) are listed. “Maybe I want to try some new toppings, is all.”

“Should I be insulted by that?” Bucky asks drily, his smile going crooked at the dirty look Steve shoots him for the implications of that joke. Like they aren’t rooted in _reason._ “Maybe you could try the Sugar Daddies, sugar.” He prefers the Swedish Fish himself, but what fun would that be to tease with?

Steve groans, then glares. “James Buchanan…”

The full use of his given name means Steve’s getting flustered. Bucky decides to toss the treatment right back. “What, Steven Grant? Got something to say?” The store is empty enough for him to turn up the teasing full force. “How’s about I finally try that Cap-ple Pie stuff today, huh?” He winks and leans in close enough for his lips to touch lightly against the shell of Steve’s ear. “Not the first time I’ve had a taste of Captain America. think it’ll be as good as the real deal?”

He knows full well he already has a different flavor picked out, but it’s the thought behind the tease that counts. He actually hasn’t tried that particular scoop yet himself, but he thinks he probably should soon. Even aside from being named after Steve, the description sounds delicious- cream tinted caramel ice cream with chunks of apple and crumbled pie crust mixed inside, most often served on what the shop calls a _Captain Americone,_ a waffle cone with the top dipped in white chocolate and coated in red, white, and blue sprinkles. It’s cheesy and maybe a bit much, but the masses seem to love it almost as much as Bucky loves Steve. 

Bucky loves him even when a second later he’s being smacked on the arm that still has sensation. Steve had to reach all the way across his chest to do it, and when Bucky takes a look at his face, he’s almost as red as some of the sprinkles on his namesake flavor from something other than just the slight sunburn that’s already formed. He doesn’t answer, instead scowling and scooting them both forward so they can both go and order the cones they’ll actually be getting. 

Because the shop is a diner and drug store combined, sitting down to be served isn’t necessary for those who go up to the counter, which is where they are now. This section of the store reminds Bucky of those soda fountains they used to sometimes frequent for those malts, which he supposes is part of the charm. The whole place has sort of a familiar feel because of it, and Bucky finds himself relaxing as he waits for the server to come take their order. 

Once she does, he lets Steve go first so that their orders will come that way too. He’s a gentleman like that. His mama raised him right , even if Steve most likely isn’t who she saw him ending up with. Like he wasn’t who she saw him with _most_ anyways. 

The worker that smiles at them from across the counter looks to be just a kid- twenty at most, maybe- but Bucky has sort of a weird handle on age nowadays thanks to the fact he no longer technically knows his own, so he can’t be sure. Being a soda hop was a job they would have had at that age though, so it’s a good guess. Regardless of whether he’s right or not, Steve’s speaking to her a moment later to answer the “what can I get you?” question he knew was coming. 

He’s not shy, but he does sound slightly unsure, most likely about whether she or anyone else is going to say anything about recognizing him or not. Really, he can lower his face from people all he wants, but they both know Bucky’s prosthetic is always a shiny silver giveaway, especially when it’s still blatantly exposed by the workout gear like he’s wearing today. “Two scoops of Panda Paws on a waffle cone, please. Regular.” Then, after a moment of musing- “Chocolate sprinkles on top.” 

She nods, but doesn’t say anything about the obvious name she must know she’s dealing with. Steve smiles, a bit relieved and a bit awkward as she turns to Bucky next. “And for you, sir?”

Bucky’s got his sure fire order already ready to go. “Chocolate and mocha soft serve swirled with a chocolate shell, please.” He smiles and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Hold the sprinkles on this one.”

Steve gives him a stink eye after they pay (Bucky’s treat, as offered) and she gives them a thumbs up and turns to start on their orders as they step to the side to wait, but eventually smiles as well, the same _aw, shucks_ expression he’d worn outside but happier. Bucky likes having been the one to make that better. “You can get triple chocolate, but I can’t get sprinkles without being made fun of?”

Bucky hums, then brushes his flesh back through his still sweaty hair to help fix it. He’s pretty sure his own is a lost cause. “Didn’t say there was anything bad about it.” He flicks him in the nose a second later, Steve letting out an indignant sound at the sting of the sunburn that’s coating it. “All those freckles are about to give you some sprinkles of your own. Why didn’t you wear sunscreen?”

Steve bats him away with one hand and drops Bucky’s own with his other to bring it up and rub over the reddened bridge. He’s not even blushing now, but the burn still makes him sort of look like it. “I forgot. It’ll be fine in a few hours anyways.” The healing factor helps with that, but still. 

Bucky wants to flick him again, but settles for rapping his flesh knuckles against his forehead like he’s knocking on wood. Steve’s so thick headed he might as well be. “Idiot.”

Steve huffs and pushes his own hand back through his hair this time, sweeping his bangs off his forehead in a move so familiar from when he was small that it makes Bucky impossibly fond even with all the banter. “Like you’re so smart yourself.”

“I’m not the one with a sunburn right now, am I, sprinkles?” Steve looks like he wants to respond, but before he can, the girl they’d given their orders to is coming out with a cone in hand that looks to be Steve’s. 

While the blonde walks over to retrieve it, Bucky takes the opportunity to reminisce a little, this time less on Brooklyn and more about some of what happened back during the war. After the serum, the freckles Bucky loved so much from Steve’s skinny chest had faded, a fact Bucky was bittersweet to discover the first time he took his shirt off in their hotel room over the bar to see. 

He wasn’t sad for too long- how could he be when Steve now had a rack like _that?_ But also because it was only a week before they came popping right back up when they were on a mission that meant they had to bathe outside in a river nearby and Bucky risked being able to feel him up when they were off on their own. Steve’s fair skin was as easy to freckle as ever- his sweet summer peach of a boy. With that ass, now in more ways than just one. 

Said ass is on its way back over to Bucky, its owner now holding his cone in one hand and a bundle of napkins in the other. Steve’s no boy scout, but he has the habit sometimes to always be prepared. 

Bucky smiles while watching Steve take his first tentative taste, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s looking. That’s his guy. He’s allowed to look. “You wanna go get us a table or wait up here with me?” The one they usually pick is outside, set up in the shade so that it’s a little less sweltering.

Steve just hums and takes another lick, not appearing to be making the motion to move. “I’ll wait. Should only be another minute anyways. Saw the guy in the back putting on your weird shell stuff when I was up there.”

Bucky snorts. “Liking a little crunch with my chocolate is weirder than your sprinkles?”

“No, but biting your damn ice cream is.” Even after all these years, it’s a complaint Steve always has when it comes to this, whether their ice cream is homemade or sold in a store. He thinks it’s weird, but Bucky doesn’t see the problem- just because _he’s_ never had teeth as sensitive as Steve’s. “You got problems, Buck.”

“Yeah?” Bucky reaches over and tugs on the cowlick tufting up where Steve’s hair is spiked with the salt of his sweat. “So do you, pal.” 

It’s true. They both have the therapists and track records to prove it. Steve puffs out a little laugh instead of his usual protest and pushes Bucky’s flesh shoulder with the hand still holding the napkins. “You’re still a heathen.”

“Just because _you_ want to deepthroat your popsicles-“ Bucky starts, already breaking into a smile and how Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, stubbornness winning over shyness. 

“Yeah? See if I ever do that to _you_ agai-“

“Mr. Barnes?” The server calls out to him, seemingly sorry to interrupt the stupid squabble Steve had been about to start. But, ice cream is a relatively time sensitive thing to serve, so Bucky doesn’t blame her. “One cone of chocolate mocha swirl with a chocolate shell?”

Bucky, now back up at the counter, gives her his most charming smile and takes the cone with his human hand gratefully. “That’s me. Thank you so much, ma’am. You have a wonderful day.” And with that, he turns back towards Steve so they can take their food (and their fighting) outside into the shade off the street. 

It’s still hot, maybe even hotter now that it’s closer to noon, but the metal chairs at the table they take are still cool against the back of Bucky’s thighs when they sit thanks to the awning covering the outdoor portion of the shop. He reclines back in his and puts his feet up into the third chair at the table, one that normally might be put into use for Sam but is reserved right now for Bucky’s sneakers. 

Just to be an asshole, he makes sure to make direct eye contact with Steve when he puts his mouth on the tip of his cone, then bites down and crunches as loud as he can. Since he wants to _complain_ about how Bucky eats his ice cream. Looking at the way Steve is licking at his own, Bucky can’t do the same, but he can wiggle his eyebrows and watch. “That stuff you got any good?”

Steve nods. Like Bucky doesn’t already know- it’s Steve’s go to flavor for a reason, so it must be, even if Bucky hasn’t yet tried it himself. He really needs to branch out from soft serve and sundaes, but like he said. The classics never hurt (especially when it comes to hot fudge). “Coming here was a good call.” He takes another lick of his cone, pink tongue poking out of equally pink lips to where a brown sprinkle is stuck to their side. For some reason, to Bucky, it’s impossibly endearing. 

“The heat must have me hearing things,” he jokes. “Steve Rogers saying I’m right about something?” Steve squints from more than just the sun, but Bucky goes on before he can interject. “What’s in those little cups again?” 

Steve punctuates his answer by picking out a bit of the shaped chocolate Bucky is referring to and eating it off his fingertips. “Peanut butter. The fudge is swirled in on the outside.”

_Panda Paws._ The first time Bucky heard him order it, he’d almost laughed out loud. When they were kids, the kinds of flavors that were offered were pretty much limited to chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, or if you could afford it, a swirl of all three. Ice cream was the commercial aspect in and of itself, no cute names needed. But now… like Steve’s flavor, at least it’s aptly named. Steve, as Bucky knows personally, is as sweet as the all American apple pie gimmick that was given to him. The flavor he’s partaking in now is a bit more vanilla, but has peanut butter cups molded to make little paw prints mixed in to dot every pint. 

Like Bucky said, cute. He still prefers his soft serve, but he likes seeing Steve eat the stuff as much as Steve seems to like eating it himself. Steve enjoys the chocolate and the taste. Bucky enjoys the comparisons and the teasing watching that allows him to make. 

He sets about doing that now, even as he’s still poking his own tongue into where his ice cream has melted soft under where the shell is keeping the outside slightly stronger, waiting until the taste of mocha is making its way to his throat instead of his mouth to speak. “You know what they look like?”

Steve, already almost down to his second scoop, looks slightly confused. That’s likely what leads to him walking so easily into Bucky’s trap. “Hm?”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth are already lifting in preparation for the line. “Those little peanut butter cups. Know what they remind me of?”

Steve still looks confused, but now also slightly suspicious. For good reason. Bucky’s an asshole, even if he is one with a protective streak about ten miles what. “What do they remind you of, Buck?” he asks warily, tone warning. As if that could deter Bucky from a tease. 

Bucky just grins and reaches out the hand not holding his cone to move across the table and fold Steve’s fingers under his own, so that his palm is pushed into the table with Bucky’s pressing on top. “Look like your hands in those little uniform gloves of yours. Same color and everything.”

For a second, Steve just blinks, seeming like he doesn’t know what to say. Then, blushing beet red and giving Bucky an incredulous look, “Did you just compare my hands to _paws?_ ”

Bucky laughs, then shrugs. He’s pretty sure he just did, but the point was more to make Steve get a little flustered than go with any real accuracy. Steve’s hands after the serum _did_ get a good bit larger, though he still kept the long fingers from before. Artist’s hands, just as easily held by Bucky as always. “Always am calling you an alley cat.”

Steve’s jaw is still slightly slack, but he goes back to his ice cream anyways, though that might be more because of the melting than anything. “You’re a weird one, Barnes.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out at him only to use it to lap up where some of his soft serve has leaked out of its shell. The texture of the latter is softening, which means he needs to get to work. Summers in Brooklyn will be getting sticky in more ways than just one if he doesn’t hurry. “You’re kind of an oddball yourself, sweetheart.”

They’re silent for a few minutes after that while Bucky munches and Steve mouths at each of their respective orders. There’s enough people passing by on the sidewalk to maybe worry about running the risk of being seen, but they’re near enough to their neighborhood for most people not to bat an eye. Besides, public displays of affection they can share might be new enough to still make Steve smile and shake his head, but he doesn’t ever deny them, and the table they’ve taken if half shrouded behind a bush anyways. So Bucky doesn’t hesitate in leaning over between bites and planting a kiss as equally sweet as the flavors he can still taste in each of their mouths when Steve opens his up and lets Bucky move right on into it. 

This is one instance he chooses to lick rather than bite, although he does let his teeth nip slightly on Steve’s lower lip just to relish in the little sound it pulls out. It’s quiet, sweet, nothing more than a sigh that non-super powered ears couldn’t ever pick up on- but even then, Bucky loves it.

They can’t go too much further than their mouths, all things considered, but Bucky doesn’t need more than that right now. The morning might be over, but the day is nowhere near done, and there’s still enough sweat dried on them both for them to have to go home and take a shower. That shower will be taken _together_ , Bucky would bargain. Steve’s always been a sucker for the offer of washing his hair. For now, Bucky just scoots his chair closer and gives Steve another slightly sticky kiss that Steve smiles into. 

“Buck,” he says, eyes glancing down between them to his half eaten cone so that the next look he gives to Bucky is from up through his lashes. “Lemme finish eating before you try and get my mouth busy doing other things, yeah?”

Bucky sighs, but sits back, looking purposefully put out. Steve knows it’s another one of his asshole acts, but doesn’t point it out past a huff. “I can’t help that you always eat slow as hell. Your metabolism speeds up, but you don’t, huh?” He bites this time with a crunch at where the soggy edge of his cone starts. Steve’s still a good distance from where he’ll be able to do the same. 

“I thought I was fast enough this morning,” Steve shoots back. “With you calling me the Road Runner and all.”

“Would that make me or Sam Wile. E Coyote?” Bucky says absently, glancing down at his watch to check the time. Only 12:15. Plenty of time for an afternoon shower after they get home. Then, giving Steve a wicked look and a wink, “I guess I _am_ the one always trying to eat _you.”_

Since Steve is currently involved in eating right as Bucky says that, he pulls a face and almost chokes on the next chunk of paw-shaped chocolate he swallows down. He glares at Bucky, separated bangs falling back over his forehead and just begging to be brushed back. 

He should invest in a headband, Bucky thinks, reaching out and doing just that. 

“Wouldn’t that make you the one with the paw comparison?” Steve says, forcibly unimpressed. 

Bucky just grins at it being brought back up and finishes chewing on his current bite before answering. “No. My uniform’s never been as cute as any of yours. Gloves are the wrong color too.” He squeezes Steve’s hand where he’s still holding it down. “With how good you look in shorts, I say we bring those back.”

Steve groans and glances down to the shorts he’s wearing right now, light blue nylon that barely reaches mid thigh. For _breathability,_ he’s said, usually after Bucky’s spent half the morning trying to pinch at his butt. Frankly, they actually have more of a habit of taking _Bucky’s_ breath _away,_ but that’s besides the point. “Outfit wasn’t exactly regulation back then, so I’m betting that it’s not now, either.” He changes the subject by holding out his cone like he’s offering to let Bucky take a lick. “You wanna try some?”

Bucky swallows the last of his cone down (Jesus, Steve really does eat slow as hell) and leans forward to accept, metal hand steadying on top of Steve’s so that the ice cream is at the right height for his mouth. Might as well start branching out sooner rather than later. “Don’t mind if I do. Thank you, sunshine.”

“But only if you don’t bite it,” Steve says, even as Bucky is right about to bend down and do just that. “You bite it and I might just have to bite _you.”_ He’s lying through the teeth he’d have to use to do that, but Bucky lets him talk his shit. They both know he’s only feline like that in the figurative sense. 

Right before his mouth is about to make contact, Bucky pauses and gives him a look, close enough to feel where the cold is radiating against his chin. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the temperatures in this setting. “Save that thought for later, hotshot. I can take of care of _that_ kind of attitude when we get home” 

Steve almost says something, but his mouth clamps up at the sight of Bucky taking his first lick, from bottom to top of what’s still on the cone then over his lips as he pulls back to taste what’s on his tongue. He takes a second to consider, settling back in his seat as he does so while Steve takes another quiet lick of his own, right over top where it’s still smooth from Bucky’s sampling. 

“It’s good,” he finally says, because it is- just maybe not what he’d typically get for himself. He’s never been very much of a vanilla guy, but Steve knows that better than anyone. In more ways than just one. “I see why you like it.” He squints at Steve then, taking the hand of freed of his cone to prop under his chin instead, metal still slightly clammy from the cold. “You gonna let me try one of those little peanut butter cups too?”

Steve pretends to mull it over, but his mouth turns up when Bucky moves a foot down so that he can bump his thigh under the table. “I guess I can spare one if you promise not to bitch when we jog some of the way home.”

Bucky just bumps him again, then moves his knee to hook up over top Steve's own. “If I’m breaking a sweat again, you’re washing my hair when we shower,” he tells him seriously, smile only cracking through when Steve’s eyes crinkle at the sides. “But you say pretty please and _maybe_ I can be persuaded to do the same.” He leans in, so close their foreheads are set together with both their bangs stuck between. “Even a little more, if you play your cards right.”

Steve huffs like the suggestion sounds stupid, but he looks hopeful as well, soft around the edges just like the half melted cone he has clutched in hand. “Yeah?”

Bucky finally takes his flesh hand off of Steve’s and taps his index finger on the tip of the scoop that’s still only half eaten, sucking the drop of dessert off his finger with a sly smile and slightly sordid stare. “You be on your best behavior and I’ll see what I can do.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve tilts his head to keep a drop of melted ice cream from dripping down the side, then picks out one of the remaining panda paws to present to Bucky between the tips of two fingers. “Here.”

Bucky takes it, then pops it into his mouth with a hum. “Thank you, honey.” It’s nothing special except for in shape, so Bucky’s not exactly expecting to be wowed or whatever, but it still tastes as good as a normal piece of chocolate. Better even, since Steve is the one who gave it to him. 

Steve is finally down to the point where he can start polishing off the cone, so they sit in silence for a few minutes while he does so save for the crunching. Eventually, Bucky lowers his hand under the table and uses it to pet absentmindedly against his thigh as he watches the pedestrians mill by. He isn’t overly _paranoid_ per se, but when you’re in the business they are, there’s no harm in keeping watch. Even if they aren’t out in the open. 

But based on Steve chowing down the last of his cone and brushing his hands off, they will be within the next minute or two. Steve wipes off his fingers with the napkins he’d brought out from inside and throws them in the bin behind their table. He’s missed a spot, though- one Bucky makes sure to sort out himself. 

He licks his thumb (the flesh one- he doesn’t need the taste of metal in his mouth) and brings it up to wipe away at where there’s a spot of vanilla brushed up under the tip of Steve’s nose. He swipes it clean and rolls his own eyes at how the motion makes Steve scrunch up his face. As if he hasn’t been Bucky used to doing this kind of stuff since they were kids. He used to help blow his goddamn nose when he was sick, what’s a little spit gonna do to scare him off?

“Buck, c’mon,” he complains, smacking his hand away and wiping off his nose himself. “I got hands, I can handle it myself.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke about my arm?” Bucky says, mockingly offended. He doesn’t mean it. Steve’s as much of a dick as he is sometimes, but he wouldn’t be the one joking about that kind of thing- half the time he can’t stomach it when Bucky starts doing it himself. “I have two hands right now too, you know.” 

Steve gives him another stink eye. “That’s hilarious,” he says, tone making it clear that’s being said sarcastically. 

Bucky’s own eyes narrow at it. “You don’t watch that pretty mouth of yours and _neither_ of them will be coming anywhere near you when we get back home,” he warns. He leans back and stretches, tank tugged up high enough for his happy trail to be visible when he brings his biceps back down. He taps his toe against the back of Steve’s calf where he still has his leg thrown between Steve’s spread out thighs in his seat. “What happened to all that best behavior?”

Steve’s ears are red where Bucky’s pretty sure they were only pink a second ago. “When have you ever known me to behave?” 

Bucky hums and holds a hand out for Steve so he can help them both stand up, both of them taking advantage of the fact that they’re behind a bush to pick at where the chairs have their shorts stuck to their backsides with perspiration. It’s a little awkward, but after all this time together, that’s something they’ve learned to ignore. “If this is payback because I made fun of your stupid sprinkles…” Steve glares and Bucky blows out a breathy laugh while leading them back out on the street to start their walk home. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find something to say the next time we get donuts.”

He has the habit of picking up a dozen from the bakery on the other side of the block for the mornings where he knows Steve will be meeting him later at work, and as such, they both know what kind he's partial to. He knows that kind Steve likes as well, which is why he picks them up in the first place. Plenty of sweets for his sweetheart- they didn’t get to enjoy sweet things for a long time, so Bucky’s pretty fond of being able to do so together now that sugar isn’t something so special in being able to spare.

Sugar might not be so special these days, but Steve always is. 

Steve likes the apple fritters, honey glazed, and strawberry iced with even more sprinkles on top. Sam seems to prefer that third type as well, along with anything jelly filled or with a classic glaze, whereas Natasha (who surprisingly has a sweet tooth, probably for reasons somewhat similar to Bucky’s own) always subtly him reminds to make sure to include a couple cinnamon twists and lemon pound cake donuts in the dozen. As for Bucky- he tends to get his own three as a cake donut (which Steve likes to say makes him a boring old man, as if he isn’t bordering on that himself with all the black coffee he downs), a bear claw, and chocolate frosted with sprinkles close to what Steve had just got on his cone. 

Steve settles a bit at that, enough for Bucky to slip his metal arm back behind his back to pull him tight up against his side while they walk, steps falling easily in sync. Jogging can wait. Bucky wants his guy here with him. “See?” he says after a second. When Steve turns his head to look at him, he smiles and kisses his cheek. “Ice cream’s a pretty high step up from protein shakes, isn’t it?”

Shaking his head and looking exasperated, Steve slips his own arm around Bucky’s wider waist and smiles down at at his sneakers when Bucky takes the opportunity to bend his flesh arm at the elbow to lay his hand over where Steve is holding him, intertwining their still cold fingers similarly to how he’d done back outside the shop. “Hell of a lot less healthy.”

“Hydra didn’t kill me. Guess a few extra calories won’t take me out either,” Bucky says lightly. Steve doesn’t join in, but he does at least smile when Bucky sighs and bumps their shoulders. “C’mon, kid. I got jokes now. It’s okay to laugh.”

Steve shrugs, scuffing his shoe on the sidewalk before giving Bucky a sideways look with blue eyes that shine in the sun still beating down from over top. “Maybe you’re just not that funny.” For that, Bucky pinches his hip, Steve yelping and turning his look into a glare. “Just because I can’t bruise anymore doesn’t mean you-“

Bucky cuts him off with a sweet smile. “Aw, sugar. Sure you can.” He removes his hand just to pinch his cheek- the one on his face. Then, as he’s bringing his prosthetic back down, the one on his ass as well. Steve turns red under his sunburn at both. “My sweet summer peach.” Steve was born in July, after all, and with an ass like his… “I’ll kiss it better when we get home if you wanna be a big baby about it,” he tells him, just because he knows it’ll make him get riled up. 

Sure enough, his voice is as heated as the air around them when he talks. “Your prosthetic has _super strength-_ “

“So do you, sweet peach,” Bucky says cheerfully, cutting him off once more. It’s the nickname that cuts him off, though, same as every sappy new one that Bucky bothers to come up with. “Maybe that flavor of yours should have been a different kind of pie.”

Steve scuffs his shoe again, and Bucky almost tells him out of habit to stop. He’s been doing that since they were kids, and they can afford all the shoes they want now, but back then the holes in his only pair had only been able to be patched up by the papers their neighbors threw out from last week. It's no wonder his Nikes always look so beat up with how he drags his heels. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Bucky just laughs and reels him back in, beard rough against his freshly pinched cheek when he plants a kiss on his lips that tastes a little like chocolate and feels a lot like love. “I’d say by now I’ve tried the real deal a lot.” He licks the tip of Steve’s nose after- he’s disgustingly in love with the guy. Might as well make that physical too. “And I say you taste pretty good.”

Something about how they are sometimes seems to bring out the inner child in them both, so it isn’t surprising when Steve smacks him, sticks his tongue out, and them tries to step away. It reminds Bucky of all the silly fights they’d had back in the Barnes’ too crowded kitchen over who cranked the most turns on the ice cream machine to get that first taste. Same as back then, he finishes the fight by tugging on Steve’s hair and changing the subject before his stubborn ass can get worked back up. 

“Hows about I go try it again in the shower when we get home so I can give you a real review?” He pauses from dramatic effect, then presses on. “Nine out of ten stars and stripes.”

Steve groans and shoves forward faster like he’s about to sprint away, but Bucky chases after him even when keeping up requires him to kick it up into a jog. “You’re awful. I think the weather has melted your brains.”

“Just like you always melt my heart, sweetheart!” Bucky laughs back, smiling wide when Steve laughs too. “That wasn’t a no, so you’ve gotta tell me if it isn’t a yes.” Steve doesn’t say anything to argue back, which is an answer in and of itself. He never has had an easy time keeping his mouth shut unless he wants to, the stubborn little shit. 

Like this, shining in the sun, Steve looks blonde and boyish like he had all those years ago on the fire escape in weather that burned as fierce as what Bucky’s feeling inside. It’s still the same as it was back then. Summer or not, this is a heat that never dies. 

And if they can’t beat the heat? Might as well enjoy it. 

**Author's Note:**

> panda paws is in fact the superior perry’s flavor! steve is right. 
> 
> comments & kudos are what keeps the content coming, so feel free to spare what you can! feedback is my favorite. i’m not above begging. as usual, i hope you enjoyed. stay safe & see you next time around.


End file.
